


Summer of '75

by ReddieFreddie27



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: BandAU, BeachAU, M/M, Reddie, Stan is a wife guy, bill is a himbo, eddie owns an ice cream shop, everyones kind of gay except ben, hanborough - Freeform, mike loves him anyway, richie is a hot lifeguard, set in venice beach in 1975, slow burn but i promise its worth it, stan and patty own a surf shop, surf rock only, tattooed eddie, tattooed losers, theres a band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReddieFreddie27/pseuds/ReddieFreddie27
Summary: Hey, cool kids! Welcome to Venice Beach, California. Where the waves are always perfect and the sun is always hot. The year is 1975 and summer is just kicking off and with it comes a story of a lifeguard, an ice cream shop owner and a summer neither will forget.orRichie is a lifeguard and Eddie is an ice cream shop owner and somehow their lives crash together. Featuring surf rock music, heartbreak, longing and the Losers Club.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 2





	Summer of '75

**December 1960**

Derry, Maine was a cold town, even in the summer. The chill wasn’t inviting like that of an ice cream cone or cool slushee from Dave’s Igloo Palace, but rather in the stares and snarls of locals. It came in the form of bully’s having free reign and no rules. Yet, even the coldest summers couldn’t come close to the nearly unbearable Derry winters. Every person seemed to inherit the frost that layered on the town in their own hearts. Each shivering breath squeezed the lungs of those who dare brave the chill. Streets were empty of children’s laughter and each noise echoed off the ice like a horrible, empty cavern. All the shops closed earlier to avoid the freezing winds and the steadily decreasing daylight hours left no time for enjoyment. Suburban neighborhoods were almost picturesque in thick layers of snow and ice, devoid of childish shrieks. Inside each home families huddled around open fireplaces whose flames were snuffed out just as quickly as they were ignited. But, no home was as cold and as silent as the Uris household. The monochromic display of brown and white brick sat completely still at the dead end of King Drive, right in the beating heart of Derry’s suburbia. 

Stanley Uris was an awkward child, mostly made up of a mop of brunet curls that circled his full cheeks like a halo. His clothing consisted solely of polos and khaki shorts in the summer and collared sweaters and khaki pants in the colder months. He lived a strict life made up of carefully curated timed activities that centered around the teachings of his father. Everything in his life was about faith, the lack of it and where it could possibly be fuller. This, as you can imagine, made for a rather lonely child. Stan was seven years old, at the peak of his childhood stock of energy. But all that energy was channeled into his readings of the Torah and the image his father fought so hard to uphold. Endless possibilities lie just outside the doors, ready to be discovered. He’d heard the call all summer but the droning voice of his father rang in his ears like the grim reaper, slow and groveling. He read the best he could of a language he had little to no grasp of. He’d been having particular trouble lately with juggling that of his school studies and religious studies. School was exciting and new, fresh smells and colors ignited his senses every morning. He’d taken a rather strange interest in the book about local birds that sat on his teachers bookshelf. The pictures of their smooth, flawless feathers gave his newly developing OCD ease. Yes, Stanley Uris was an awkward boy with absolutely no friends and at the rate things were going, it seemed things would stay that way.

Stanley sat beside the grand window in the front of his house, snowflakes kissing the glass as the first big snow of the winter settled in. He had his glass of warm milk with a book about bird migration patterns at his fingertips. He had borrowed it from the school library just before winter break, the appeal lying in the large pictures of places he had not yet seen. One day Stan hoped to live somewhere where birds chirped loudly year round, someplace warm and inviting. The muffled sounds of cars passing by the window hummed softly in Stan’s little ears. His mother was upstairs sleeping off the hangover of the century while his father was out organizing a charity drive for something Stan couldn’t pronounce. It was making out to be a rather uneventful early afternoon. His eyes wandered curiously outside of his window to the snow covered streets. They were empty right now, no children screaming loudly and laughing at the chill biting their cheeks. Stan thought about what it would be like to touch the snow, fall right into it and let the ice nibble his bare chest. Would it hurt? Would he get hypothermia like his mother always warned him about? 

Quite suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of red zoomed by the house followed quickly by a shocked scream. Stan frowned, rushing to press his face further to the glass. His mind raced to find an explanation or sign of life. For what seemed like years ,but was in all actuality two minutes, Stan waited with baited breath. Had it been a one time occurrence? Stan thought before a short figure appeared. Their red coat and red snow pants were severely caked in snow as a wooden sled scraped the concrete behind them. Stan watched as the figure slipped and balanced, slipped and balanced, slipped and balanced before stopping. They put down the sled and looked up at the sky for a moment, seeming to make some sort of calculation, but of what Stan wasn’t sure. Licking their gloves and sticking it in the air, Stan watched in awe, what exactly were they doing? The figure proceeded to walk a while longer before disappearing back up the street. A loneliness settled in Stan’s chest, a longing to go and find out what they were up to. But, instead, he settled back into his windowsill pillow and proceeded with his readings.

Time passed, Stan wasn’t sure how long, but it must have been awhile because when he went to take a drink of milk it was as cold as the window beside it. With a frustrated huff, Stan stood up and bookmarked his book. But, before he could make any mission of warming his milk he saw the same flash of red fly forward and hit the street face first. The sled spiraled out of view leaving the figure in the street, they laid motionless for a moment. Stan gasped, as concern shaking his body. He waited for someone to notice, anyone to notice the mysterious child, but no one came. Stan was frozen as the child moved to a seating position while their shoulders shook from what was clearly crying. Stan weighed the option of getting his mother, she had said only wake her for emergencies and this certainly seemed to qualify as one. Stan looked at his watch, his mother had also told him specifically not to bother her until five pm, and it was only one thirty. His father had a rule about going about with the neighborhood children, he always called them names like ‘roughians’ and ‘hooligans’. He knew he’d get in trouble but he also knew it wasn’t right to leave the kid outside and hurt. So, very carefully, Stan put on his winter coat over his train printed pajamas and laced on his snow boots. 

“Okay,” he assured himself before grabbing the first aid kit and opening the front door. A burst of cold air hit his skin and he chuckled softly at the shock. He hadn’t been allowed to play in the snow, the only chill of winter he felt was what leaked through the front door when his father came home. 

“Hey!” He called to the figure in the street. He hadn’t left his porch yet, just in case the kid was some sort of hooligan or roughian.

They looked over, or rather he did. Stan’s eyes met the red face of eight year old Richie Tozier. His missing front teeth were well on display as he hissed in pain. Big tears were welled in his eyes as he stared at Stan. His broken glasses sat in his lap as he squinted, Stan would have laughed at the comical face he was making but thought that might be rude. Richie Tozier was a name Stan was familiar with in likes of conversation. His father had spoken once or twice about the “curly-haired troublemaker with lawless, faithless parents”. But Stan never met the boy outside of the occasional run-in at school. Stan was a grade below the mysterious Richie Tozier and would normally be glad for it but right now he was rather wishing he was a bit older. Maybe then he would know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked, walking a bit further towards Richie.

“My glasses are broken and, and I think I hurt my leg,” He spoke through the pain, trying to sound tougher than he was, and Stan sighed. He clutched the tin box in his hands and had a small war with himself. Stan could make out a couple scrapes on Richie from the porch that needed care, but would it be wise to go in the middle of the street to someone Stan barely knew? 

“Where are your mom and dad?” Stan asked, rocking on his heels.

“At my house, can you help me?” Richie asked as he began to attempt to stand.

Stan gave one glance behind him before adjusting his coat and furrowing his brow in determination. 

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Stan spoke finally and felt the crunch of snow beneath his boots as he approached Richie. An excited chill dancing up his spine, he was breaking the rules for the first time in his life.

The closer he got to the boy he found him to be less intimidating. He had big brown eyes that were squinted down in an attempt to focus on his surroundings, his lip was a small trickle of blood on it as he offered a horrific looking smile to Stan. Stan scowled in disgust as he bent down to Richie.

“What were you even doing?” Stan asked, taking Richie's scraped cheek in his palm. 

“Sledding, Beverly said it was a shit idea but I had to try. Turns out she was right, not enough snow yet,” Richie explained and Stan gasped at his language.

“You really shouldn’t say that, that’s a bad word,” Stan scolded mildly as he placed a band aid on Richie’s cheek. Richie shrugged in reply which caused Stan to roll his eyes, something he had never done before. 

“Can you walk?” 

“Not really, my house is not that far can you help me?” Richie asked through a considerable lisp.

Stan looked back at his house and imagined his sleeping mother. She wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, and he was supposed to help those in need, he sighed before turning to Richie.

“Come on,” he spoke softly and lifted up the thickly layered up boy from the pile of snow. 

“I’m Richie, by the way.”

“Stan and I know,” Stan smiled softly.

“Well, Stanley the Manly thanks for being my knight in shining armor,” Richie smiled his toothless smile.

Stan blushed pink on his frosty cheeks as a small smile hit his face. Richie wasn’t so bad after all, no roughian or hooligan in him, at least not that Stan can see.

“Wanna play tomorrow? I promise I usually don’t fall like that. We can ask Beverly if she wants to come too,” Richie laughed nervously.

“Whose Beverly?”

“Kind of like my annoying sister, but not really a blood sister. She’s just more around all the time. Anyway, wanna play?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan answered without thinking. An excitement filling his bones at the prospect of making what would be his first, and best, friend.

  
  
  
  


**MAY 1971: Derry, Maine**

____BEVERLY____

Stella’s Diner was currently in it’s lunch rush. Burly men from the mill hobble in through the greased up glass doors with the chime of an old rusty bell. Balding, overweight and overall angry they didn’t make for the most desirable customers. With the summer heat starting to kick in and the air conditioner giving out, it was miserable in the two star diner. All this combined was more than enough to put Beverly Marsh in a really sour mood. Between fighting off the heat and wandering hands, she could only keep up the chipper attitude just long enough for tips, and most of the time it wasn’t even worth the extra dollar or two. Being a waitress was an easy job with quick cash, sure, but after three years it was getting old.

Bev was currently balancing two trays on her arms as she danced through the growing crowd to her table, a group of younger men who had been eyeing her impolitely for the past twenty minutes. Bev was well aware of the rumors that surrounded her, despite having no idea how they even got started. She supposed it had something to do with her two best friends being boys, but still, the assumptions always left a bad taste in her mouth. 

“I’ve got the club with fries and a special with cheese sticks,” she announced as she set down the boats of fried goodness on the laminate table. 

“You’re Beverly Marsh, right? From Derry High,” one of the boys asked with a mischievous smirk on his thin lips. He had straw blonde hair and deep green eyes. They might have been pretty if it wasn’t for the sinister intent in them. Bev sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, class of 1970, did you go there too?” She asked with a sticky-like sweetness. 

“No,no...I, uh, was just wondering with a sweet face like yours, how did you get such a nasty reputation?” He licked his teeth and gave a smile that practically devoured her. Bev rolled her eyes and slammed down the rest of the food.

“People get bored, they make up shit. It’s not my fucking business what people say about me.” Beverly’s words came out slow and through her gritted perfect teeth. The boys laughed.

“Feisty too, what do you say we get out of here? We can go wherever you like, I heard you don’t have much standards on location,” The blonde continued.

Beverly felt her face flush as a gross feeling stuck to her skin. It was like oil and tar spreading unwanted heat across her speckled skin. She hated it; she hated  _ them.  _ Boys like them came in here, ordered the whole damn menu only to make horrible comments before leaving a fifty cent tip. It was a hellish cycle that brought about memories she’d rather forget.

“Everything okay over here?” A voice cut in, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice was low, gravelly, and tight. Bev looked over and felt relief rush her body. 

Richie Tozier wasn’t intimidating in a sense where he was scary. There was nothing inherently terrifying about the gangly six foot one boy with big glasses and crooked teeth. But, there was something terrifying about his keen ability to throw a nasty left hook. Richie held no real reputation; everyone in town hated him. They spat on the ground he walked on and whispered slurs in his direction. He was, after all, the only “out” gay kid in the whole town of Derry. Consequently, he survived getting jumped and beaten his whole life and, in that, had developed a sense about people, and, along the way, had gotten really good at defending himself.

“Well if it ain’t the little fairy!” the brunette cut in. He was smiling through the lump of tobacco in his lip. Black specks coated his yellow teeth so thick that Beverly could have vomited.

“Very funny, I’m dying of laughter over here,” Richie laughed sarcastically before bending down from his towering height and leaning into the boy. 

“If you make another comment about my friend here, I’ll rearrange your face with my fist. And with this many witnesses I’m sure it won’t take long for word to get out that you got your sorry ass beat by the little  _ fairy _ ,” Richie finished gripping the boy's shoulder so tight he winced. The boys all sat silent before Richie stood back at his towering height.

There was nothing scary about Richie Tozier. In fact, his looks were rather comical. He’d been bullied his entire life and held no real weight in the intimidation arena. But, at that moment, whatever had come over him was more than enough to send those boys running.

Bev turned to Richie and his mop of midnight curls. He wore a shit-eating grin as a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Bev giggled in shock.

“Hell if I know.” Richie ran a hand though his shaggy hair.

“Well, whatever it was, thank you. I’d usually handle them easily but today...a lot more going on up here,” Bev shrugged and tapped her temple. 

“No problem, Marsh,” Richie wrapped an arm around Bev and whispered, “now what do you say we get out of here, for good this time?”

“Eh, fuck it,” Bev beamed.

“Fuck it,” Richie repeated.

“Attention all bastards, assholes, and sad balding fuckers! Take a good look at all this because it is the last time you will ever see it! Also, Terry? Yeah, I spit in your food! Hope that teaches you to stop staring at the asses of teenage girls, you forty year old perv!” Richie shouted before throwing his apron down and twirling in a big circle. Bev took out a cigarette and ignited it while watching. The smoke danced through the air and felt good in her chest. 

Yes, today was different because today was the day they finally got out of Derry.

____STAN____

Stanley Uris was a good kid. He never broke the rules, always made curfew, and held a steady job at the local gas station, a pillar of responsibility that parents used to compare their own children. He was clean cut with a sense of style that was respectful compared to the loud colors others wore. He always kept his curls nicely out of his face and was never anything less than pristine. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to rebel; it was just that his father had never left him room to breathe. Growing up with your father as a Rabbi had its (major) setbacks. The Uris household was held under strict instruction with everyone doing their part to ‘uphold the family name’. Maybe that would have been good enough to accept if it wasn’t for Richie Tozier and Beverly Marsh. They were Stan’s saving graces, not that he’d ever tell them that. The way Beverly was unapologetic about who she is and where she came from. She wore her traumas like a crown, never allowing them to deter her from living. Not to mention the fact that his father was thoroughly convinced Bev had been actively seducing Stan for years now. Always making side comments about what she wears, how she speaks, and how ‘young girls shouldn't be so provocative and smoke’. It was strange to think that that’s how people might interpret their relationship when it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Then, there was Richie, his best friend in the entire world. A boy who, against all odds, had come out on top every time. Richie, who had been beaten down for who he loves, held more love for the world around him than anyone Stan knew. His happiness in their company, two people whose values contrasted everything his father fought so hard against, was rebellion enough. That is until today. 

Stan stared at his watch, the worn leather hugging his wrist. His leg was bouncing as he sat on the edge of his well made bed. Everything was in order, he had made sure of that about seven times. His hand rubbed the scars on his arm absentmindedly, echoes of another lifetime. They were supposed to get to his house at two o'clock and his dad would be home any minute. He’d of course prepared a speech, something firm and strong, but Richie had ripped it up and told him to just speak from his heart or ‘all that wound up rage you got in there Staniel’. Stan wiggled his nose and huffed. His suitcase was staring at him from across the room. He hoped he packed everything because there was no way he was coming back.

The sound of the front door opening and closing cut off his anxious thoughts, a swift determination was quickly taking its place. It was one forty-five which means he had fifteen minutes at least to go off on his dad. Arthur Uris was an intimidating man. He had thick dark hair that was always slicked back and was always wearing a face of constant disdain. He wore sharp suits that were itchy and uncomfortable when Stan was forced to wear them as well. Arthur’s voice was always at a low grumble, authoritative and terrifying when risen. Stan hated his fathers voice, in fact, he hated everything his father stood for. The only other time he had the guts to say anything back is when he ranted about Richie a few years ago, it had resulted in a months grounding but he wouldn't take back those words for the world.

“Stanley?” His father called him from the bottom of the steps. There was already an edge to his voice, just as there always was when he spoke Stan’s name.

“Fuck this shit,” Stan whispered and grabbed his suitcase. He gripped the handle so tight his knuckles were white, but he didn’t dare let go. And with one final look at his childhood bedroom, he turned and shut the door for the final time. His feet hit each carpeted step as he picked up momentum. There was a breeze of confidence behind him that drove him forward. His watch read one fifty when he met the eyes of his father.

“Stanley, did you do your reading for today?” It was the first thing his father asked him everyday, and everyday, Stan told him he had. This was a lie most of the time.

“No, I didn’t,” Stan began, holding his crown of curls high.

“Well, there better have been a fire or a death, and it sure doesn’t look like this house is a pile of ash, so when's the funeral?” His father’s voice came out rigid and low as he slammed his bag on the table. It was the first time Stan didn’t flinch.

“I didn’t do the reading because I’m fucking tired of it.” Stan spoke clearly.  _ No going back now. _

“Excuse me,” his father asked tartly.

“You...you heard me! I’m tired of it! All of it! I’m tired of this little routine we have as a fucking family to be picture perfect. I’m sick of pretending like mom isn’t drinking herself to death to ignore how shitty of a man you turned out to be or- or that you’re this perfect fucking leader when actually you’re the fucking worst person I’ve ever met! All you do is pick at people and make them feel like shit about themselves until they are bloody and broken. You’ve ignored me my entire life; so much that when I sneak out to go fucking smoke, to get fucking high with Richie and Bev, you don’t even notice! You never notice! And now, I’m fucking leaving this whole town and you and everyone! I’m getting in Bev’s stoner van and leaving with my two best friends and we are never ever going to come back!” Stan was laughing and shouting through his nerves. Arthur's eyes might as well have been on fire by the way he was staring at Stan. His body shook from anger as Stan began jetting towards the front door. One fifty six.

“Stanley Uris!” His father raged as he began chasing him out the door. Stan was beginning to panic now. If his friends didn’t show on time there was no way his father would let him leave. He would be locked in some basement by then. One fifty-seven.

There were many things that made Beverly Marsh distinguishable from the crowd. But the most evident one was her mode of transportation. The Loser Cruiser was a rundown 1964 Volkswagen Type 2 Camper in a stark bright orange. It was rusting around the wheels, metal being eaten up by old age and lack of money to fix it. You could always tell the Loser Cruiser was on her way by the sound of Janis Joplin blaring from the open windows. It echoed through neighborhoods with the rumble of an outdated engine and music that made all of suburbia twitch in disbelief. Even more unbelievable was the girl with fire red hair that matched the exterior paint job and the obnoxious boy always sat in the passenger. Most of the time, Stan was cursing the loud engine and music, especially when he is trying to sneak out, but today, he could have kissed that van. It came swerving down the road, speeding no doubt, before halting in front of the Uris household. Stan’s face lit up, he was safe now. He spotted Richie in the passenger smiling at him with a thumbs up which gave Stan the remaining boost he needed.

“You’re a...a...motherfucker,” Stan shouted in delight before racing to the open door of the van.

“Mr. Uris! Sir, did you know I made out with your son,” Richie shouted in an English accent from the window. He had a joint lit in his hand as he leaned out the window, curls askew and a smile shining brightly. Stan and Bev both erupted into laughter at the look of pure shock on Arthur Uris’ face.

“Oh, yeah, and it wasn’t only once! We’ve swapped spit quite a bit, sir!” Richie made kissy faces before leaning to the back of the van. The big door was still open leaving a rather perfect opportunity for Richie to do something absolutely ridiculous. He grabbed Stan by the cheeks and planted a big wet sloppy kiss on his lips. Stan hummed in surprise before falling into another fit of laughter. Arthur was staring in a mixture of disgust, shock, and absolute disdain.  _ There’s that look again.  _ Stan watched as Richie went back to the passenger seat, and Stan closed the door.

That would be the last Derry, Maine ever saw of Beverly Marsh, Stan Uris, and Richie Tozier. The only signs of goodbye were the echoes of laughter and music in the streets as they passed the county lines.

**  
** **FEBRUARY 1973:Venice Beach, California approx. 3,131 miles away**

________EDDIE________

Eddie studied the piece of paper on the mahogany desk. The thin black print was a blur of terms and conditions in his tired eyes. He had been driving for hours with nothing but gas station coffee and donuts to keep him company. He wasn’t even sure if what he was doing was logical or ethical. There were about a million alarms going off in his head as he sat there. The chair was stiff under him, driving his posture forward towards the papers. The heat was drenching his back, and he was coming to quickly regret his decision in clothing. It had been a bit breezier in the city compared to the stark heat and cloudless skies here. The hum of a metal fan was clinking in his ears like a metronome. He gulped, his hands shaking as he held the pen in his hand.

“Look, kid, I don’t got all day. I got about five others in line for this space. I have no problem giving it to a more eager tenant,” the man in the chair spoke with an accent that didn’t match the area. It was rough, sharp around the edges, and much different than anything Eddie had ever heard. 

Eddie’s big dark eyes looked up to meet those of Mr. Penn E. Wise. He was the owner of the strip of buildings on the boardwalk. Mr. Wise was a character of a man that made you feel that if you stared too long, he might whisk you away, never to be heard from again. He had deep eyes that verged on an almost amber color in certain lighting. His fire red hair was unkempt in that it looked like he used very little gel to manage it. A milky whiteness settled in his skin that caused harsh red blotches to appear when he was too hot, which was all the time. His lips were constantly chapped, despite his heavy use of Vaseline, so they were always a bright shade of painful pink. Eddie didn’t like him one bit, but he was all he had.

“Uh, sorry, no, I want the space, just nervous,” Eddie stuttered on his words, frowning at himself before reading the final lines of the contract.

“It’s a five year lease next to one of my most successful shops. You play your cards right and you got nothing but success,” Mr. Wise clicked his tongue, and it made Eddie uncomfortable.

Eddie took a deep breath. This was a risk, but all new things were at the end of the day. Sure, he’d dropped out of school and lied to his mom before driving thousands of miles to Venice Beach. And yeah, his mom was still under the impression he was going to school to be a lawyer instead of opening a shop on the boardwalk, but all dreams come with risk, right? Eddie clenched the pen and ignored the alarms. He ignored the will to go back and beg for his spot at Uni, and he ignored the voice of his mother babbling and crying about how Eddie would get hurt, instead, firmly focusing on the dotted line that now held the swift signature of Edward Kaspbrak. 

“Great!” Mr. Wise clapped while puffing his newly lit cigar. He shuffled some paper before opening his metal drawer and pulling out a gold key. It had a plastic label that read ‘205E’ in scratchy writing. Eddie's heart raced in his chest, a pounding of urgency that both propelled him forward and gave him caution.

“You’re in the far East end, popular area. You’re gonna walk straight down until you see a huge shop that reads ‘Big Red’s’, and then, right next to it, is your place. Can’t miss it,” Mr. Wise slammed the key next to Eddie’s hand and bid him farewell. It was much less formal than Eddie would have liked, but the sooner he got away from that man the better.

“Oh! And all rents due on the fifth of the month. You can give it to me or my daughter, Greta. She will be wandering around somewhere. Can’t miss her, tall broad with big eyes. Mostly hangs around the lifeguard stations being a pain in my ass,” he chuckled this wicked laugh that started somewhere in his stomach and ended up in someone else’s throat. Eddie felt a shiver down his spine.

“Thank you, sir,” Eddie nodded before leaving the office and heading back out into the sun. 

It was buzzing on the boardwalk, bodies squished together either walking or skating. Surfboards being held as casually as a purse or book. Girls in bikinis roller skate down the boardwalk without care or caution. Couples hand in hand deep in conversation about things Eddie had never thought nor heard of. All kinds of couples too; it was a culture shock. Sure, Eddie had heard about the open minded nature of Venice Beach natives, but to see it is different. It was nice, he thought, to have a place so safe for everyone. 

“Woah there, buddy,” a woman’s voice shouted, and Eddie jumped backwards. A girl about his age with bright red hair was laughing as she halted on her skates. She was holding a pizza in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. All she was wearing was a one piece swimsuit that revealed her freckled skin. It read “Freddie’s Pies”, a place Eddie assumed was a local pizzeria. She was quite pretty, in a unique way. 

“Sorry! I’m not even paying attention,” Eddie apologized.

“Don’t sweat it man. I was far out too,” she giggled and made a motion with her hand Eddie had only seen surfers in movies use. She seemed to wait for him to return the gesture, so he did. It felt awkward on his hands, and the girl laughed.

“Relax, man. It’s just a hang ten. Let’s me know we’re cool,” she explained, and Eddie nodded and shook out his nerves. He needed to calm down. He was in the most laid back place on Earth, and he was still wound up tighter than a screw. All he had to do was head to the east end of the boardwalk.

“I’m sorry but do you know where the far East End is? I’m looking for Big Red’s?” Eddie shrugged, and the girl giggled. It was a beautiful sound, much nicer than Penn’s.

“The far East End isn’t really a place. There’s two sides to the boardwalk, the East and West end. West end is more fancy, all the cribs and shit. East end is the shops, all that means is you are headed to the shop end. So, Big Red’s? Wouldn’t have taken you for much of a surfer, but it’s groovy. It’s just down that way. Keep going, it has a huge surfboard on the sign. Tell the owner Bev sent you; it should get you a discount. I gotta skitty!” The girl, who Eddie now knew as Bev, winked and disappeared into the crowd. 

Eddie wasn’t going inside Big Red’s, but still, a discount would work in his favor one day. After all, he was living on a beach now and owned zero beach attire. Eddie began the trek to the East End of the boardwalk and with each step felt a little better about his decision. It was scary, sure but so were a lot of things. 

When that girl had said the surfboard was big, she hadn’t mentioned a good twenty feet. The sight of the giant red board hung high on the shop was the first thing Eddie made out of the rather sizable place. It looked crowded and loud, and Eddie practically had to dodge about twenty rambunctious surfers making their way in and out. He heard music blaring from inside but didn’t get a good look because his sights fell on the small empty shop beside it. His heart fluttered in his chest, skin buzzing with excitement. 

It wasn’t anything special. It had clearly been a hot dog place prior to Eddie's ownership. It had big shutters that opened as well as an old red door on the side. Worn wood and sand stuck to every surface as Eddie stood before it. The faded reminisces of letters on the sign that would be painted over. He envisioned it: Kaspbrak Kreamery. The one stop shop for the best ice cream in all of Venice Beach. Natural ice cream with bursting flavors and homemade recipes. He felt the weight of the notebook in his pocket that housed all his plans. It housed his future.

“This wasn’t a mistake.” Eddie realized with a smile before taking the old key and turning the lock.

“My future isn’t a mistake,” Eddie repeated.

And as it turns out it wasn’t. It didn’t take long for Kaspbrak Kreamery to become the buzz of the beach. Kids loved the flavors and parents loved the healthy choice. Surfers, skaters, kids and old timers alike found themselves flocking to the shop daily. The small tables and chairs just outside were always full, and Eddie found the crowd that hung around Big Red’s always stopped at his shop. He’d met the owners once, Stan Uris and Patty Blum, a nice young couple that were newly engaged. He never saw Bev again, and he never did use her discount but he did get more comfortable throwing a hang-ten to the locals. He wore more suitable clothing and his hair grew out a little, the ends even curling a bit on some days. He acquired a tan that brought out his freckles and lived in the nice apartments behind his building. There was nothing about his new life that warranted worry anymore. Edward Kaspbrak, as it would seem, was completely happy. 


End file.
